Reeling, she spied the alarm clock on the bedside table. “Get out. I want to get ready to see Squire,” she said, hating the way her voice shook.
At the mention of his father, Jefferson’s eyes darkened. His face went curiously blank, and he inclined his head. “By all means.”
Then he was gone.
Emily sank onto the edge of the bed, absently aware of the way the quilt was all bunched and wrinkled beneath her. Her heart was thudding so unevenly she felt dizzy. She pulled on the stupid shirt and, tilting to her side, pulled her legs up onto the mattress and waited for the room to stop spinning. And then she cried.
Tristan, walking past the open door several minutes later, glanced in. He silently took in the tumbled bed and the soft snuffles from the hunched figure facing away from the doorway. As silently as he’d approached, he retreated.
He strode down to the kitchen. Clapped his hand over Jefferson’s shoulder and pulled him around from where he stood at the sink. Water spewed across the floor from the glass in Jefferson’s hand.
“Dammit, Tris. What the hell’s wrong with you?” Jefferson growled. He dropped the glass in the sink.
Tristan straightened to his full height, topping Jefferson by a few solid inches. His fists curled. “You stupid son of a bitch.”
The screen door slammed, and Matthew trotted in his eyes taking in the scene. In a flash he went between the two angry brothers, lifting a steadying hand, even as he grabbed for one of the chairs he’d bumped. Ignoring Matthew, Jefferson scooted out of the way to avoid the wooden chair skittering crazily toward him.
Matthew planted his palm on Tristan’s chest, keeping him from moving toward Jefferson. “Come on, guys.”
Tristan shook off Matthew. “Get out of my way,” he warned.
Daniel barely paused in the doorway, taking in the tumult. “For God’s sake,” he muttered. “Somebody not have their prunes this morning?” Starting forward, his boot slipped in the water pooled on the floor. Arms waving, his momentum carried him against a tipped chair and he went down with a racket and a curse. Bright blood spurted onto his shirt. Matthew muttered under his breath and tossed his brother a dish towel.
Jefferson looked at Tristan. “Look what you started, you idiot.”
Tristan, shoving past Matthew’s not inconsiderable barrier, went nose to nose with Jefferson. “I started? You’re the one breaking Emily’s heart. I never thought you’d be the type to tumble her in bed and leave her crying. You’re my brother, but I swear to God, Jefferson, you’d better do right by her. Or, I’ll—”
Jefferson’s eyebrow lifted.
“What do you mean tumble her in bed?” Daniel’s voice was muffled through the cloth held to his dripping nose.
“What do you think?” Tristan said sarcastically.
Suddenly, Jefferson found himself the object of not just one angry brother, but three. All he needed was for Sawyer to join the fray. “I didn’t tumble Emily,” he said stiffly, aware that he’d wanted to do just that. He bit back a stream of vicious words and shouldered his way past Matthew and Tristan, stepped over Daniel, and stomped outside.
Matthew wearily righted a chair and plunked down on it. “Well, this was fun,” he said to no one in particular.
“Jefferson’s sleeping with Emily?” Still sprawled on the floor, Daniel shook his head in disbelief. “She’s practically our baby sister!”
Emily stepped into the room. She’d heard most of the fracas from the staircase, but it had begun and ended so abruptly she’d not had a chance to step in. “Jefferson is not sleeping with Emily,” she said bluntly, garnering several startled looks. “But not for lack of trying on her part,” she added for good measure. “So, if you’re going to be horrified at someone’s behavior, aim it at me. Not Jefferson. He deserves better from you.”
With her hands propped on her hips, she studied the motley collection of Clays. They were, at the moment, a pathetic bunch. And she loved them all. “Now, I’m going to the hospital to see Squire. So if you’re coming, get a move on.”
Matthew slid back his chair and rose. Daniel retrieved a fresh towel and shirt from the stack in the mudroom and Tristan righted the rest of the chairs. Silently they followed Emily out to the Blazer. Sawyer came out from the horse barn, his steps faltering as he saw his brothers’ expressions. But he held his tongue. They piled into the truck, with Emily taking the driver’s seat.
There was no more talk of Jefferson accompanying them.
Chapter Seven
Squire was awake when they arrived. The nurse on duty even said they could all go in together to see him. Propped back against a stack of pillows, his vivid blue eyes tracked their entrance.
Emily dropped a kiss on his cheek. “You’re looking much better.”
He grunted. “Can’t say the same for Daniel there. You been picking on my boys again, missy?” He folded his arms across his chest, studying his sons. His eyes narrowed when no explanation was forthcoming. “Where’s Jefferson?”
Emily sat in the single chair and scooted closer to the bed. “He’s feeling under the weather,” she murmured, sliding a warning look toward Tristan.
“How are you feeling today?” Sawyer asked, smoothly taking Squire’s attention.
The older man harrumphed. “Like a damn pincushion. Ever’ time I’m ready to snooze, that battle-ax out there comes in disturbin’ me. The least they could do for a dyin’ man would be to provide some pretty nurses.”
“You’re not dying,” Sawyer countered.
“Although you certainly seemed to try,” Emily commented. She slid her hand into Squire’s. “You gave us quite a scare, you know.”
He just harrumphed grumpily. But his fingers gently squeezed hers, and she smiled and fell silent as he ordered Matthew and Dan to bring him up to speed on affairs at the Double-C.
“And when’re you coming home to stay?” Squire said, seeming satisfied with the ranch report and turning his startlingly translucent blue eyes on Emily.
“Squire, you know I have a job in San Diego.”
“So? Don’t tell me you’re happy with it. I can look in your eyes, girl, and tell that something’s pluckin’ at you. If it ain’t that damn boring job you got, then what is it?”
“My job isn’t boring,” she defended lightly. “In fact, there’s been some indications that I might get to do more consulting, and that will mean I get to travel. How bad can that be?”
“Airports and more airports. Pretty soon it’ll seem like all you see is the inside of airports,” Sawyer answered quietly.
“Airports, oh, geez,” Matthew shoveled his fingers through his hair, making the short strands stand on end. “What time is it?” He grabbed Daniel’s arm and turned it around to see the watch. “Great. That’s just great. I forgot all about Jaimie. I knew there was a reason we were supposed to drive separately. Now I’ll have to make an extra trip back home to take her up to the ranch from the airport.”
“What’s this about Jaimie? You talking about Joe’s sis?” Squire pushed himself up against the pillows, grimacing against the pull of the adhesive tape covering his chest.
“One and the same,” Daniel answered, a faint grin playing with his lips.
“Just come back here with her before driving to the ranch,” Emily suggested to Matthew. “Then you guys can go on, and I’ll stay here until later. Somebody can come back and get me.”
“That boy’s sure got his shorts in a twist,” Squire com mented after Matthew had left, grumbling something about a stupid waste of driving time. “All ’cause that girl’s coming back. Never did see what the beef was between them. She seemed kinda sweet, if ya’ ask me.”
The question of Jaimie Greene’s sweetness had to go unanswered when the nurse on duty came in and shooed them out. “This is ICU, you know,” she reminded them needlessly. “Besides, we’re moving Mr. Clay to a regular room this afternoon.”
Sawyer suggested they hit the café for lunch, and they left after Emily promised Squire she�
��d track him down, regardless of where they stuck him in the hospital.
As usual, Candy was on duty and her young face perked up markedly as they trooped into the café. She hastily splashed coffee into her present customer’s cup, then plunked the pot right onto the table in front of the woman. She snatched up several menus and rushed over. “Hi,” she greeted them breathlessly, her eyes wide on Tristan’s face.
He smiled slowly, and color rushed into Candy’s face. Blinking, she turned, nearly bumping into another waitress, and led them back to their usual table.
“You’re mean,” Emily pinched Tristan’s arm.
“What did I do?”
“You know.”
“What? I smiled at the girl. What’s so bad about that?”
“You’re twenty miles out of her league,” Emily said under her breath as she slid into the chair Tristan held out for her.
“Relax, would ya? There’s nothing wrong with—”
“She sees you smile at her, and she’s going to think something’s going to come of it. And we both know that nothing will.”
“Hey,” he said as he tapped her nose with his fingers, “don’t take out your problems with Jefferson on me. All I did was smile at the girl. She’s pretty. She’s worth smiling at. So relax.” He turned just as Candy reappeared. “Bring a pitcher of beer,” he told her. “We’re celebrating. Our father is getting out of ICU today.”
“How wonderful,” she gushed, then fumbled with the apron tied tightly about her hips for the pad to write down their orders.
They were more than halfway through the meal when Matthew arrived. A tall, slender redhead followed him, her dark green eyes shooting daggers into Matthew’s back. But when he stopped beside their table and introduced her around, her expression lightened and she greeted everyone with a musical voice.
Emily scooted over so there was room to pull up a chair beside her, and Jaimie slid into it, dumping her huge shoulder bag over the chair back. She turned down the offer of food and declined a mug of beer, softly asking Candy to bring her a glass of iced tea instead.
The table fairly rattled when Matthew plunked himself down onto the chair between Sawyer and Daniel. He reached for the pitcher and poured the last of it into an empty water glass. He lifted the glass to his lips and steadily drank it down, his eyes watching Jaimie as he did so. “Ahh,” he said when finished, and thumped the glass onto the table. “Nothin’ like a cold beer.”
Jaimie sniffed and turned toward Emily. “How is Mr. Clay doing? My brother told me what happened.”
Emily instinctively liked the other woman. And despite the sullen looks they received from Matthew, the two women visited their way through the meal that Candy hurriedly brought for Matthew and the dessert that Tristan indulged in. Sawyer had excused himself quite a while earlier to use the phone, and Daniel was reading the newspaper he’d purchased from the machine in front of the café.
“I can’t wait to see Maggie,” Jaimie was saying. “What with her pregnancy and all, I’m hoping to stay until the baby comes—”
Daniel’s and Matthew’s heads came up simultaneously. “What?”
Jaimie jumped faintly at the twin demands. Eyes rounded, Jaimie looked toward the brothers. “What?”
“What did you say about Maggie?” Daniel asked.
“Well, I thought you’d all know. But I suppose what with your father and all…”
“What about her,” Matthew interrupted.
Jaimie’s eyes narrowed at Matthew’s arrogant tone. “She is preg…nant,” she announced slowly, as if to a dim-witted child.
But Matthew waved off that point. “About staying.”
“And I hope to stay until the baby is born,” she obliged, her tone dulcet.
Clearly, this did not thrill Matthew Clay. But he contained himself. Emily figured it was only because they were in a public place. Matthew was the least flappable of all the Clay men. Yet the news that this lovely redhead planned to be around awhile obviously jangled him.
“Pregnant?” Daniel touched Jaimie’s hand, taking the woman’s attention from his older, disgruntled, brother, “Maggie’s pregnant?”
Matthew grunted and shoved back his chair. “That’s what she said, Dan. More than once. Can we get a move on here? Where’d Sawyer go, anyway?” He snatched up the check and his wallet in one motion and headed toward the front of the restaurant.
Tristan pointed toward the windows at the rear of the restaurant through which Sawyer could be seen leaning against the glass-enclosed public phone. He scooped up the last of his gargantuan slice of apple pie.
“Why don’t you just lick the plate,” Emily suggested on a laugh.
Tristan shrugged, unrepentant, and waved her off. “You going across to the hospital now?”
Emily nodded. “I’ll see you guys later. Don’t forget to come back and get me, or else I’ll have to take a room at the motel next door.” She turned to Jaimie. “We’ll have to go riding soon. Tomorrow,” she suggested, having learned the other woman also loved horses.
“I’d like that,” Jaimie’s smile wavered as she looked past Emily’s shoulder. “As long as I have time,” she finished.
“We’ll make time,” Emily insisted, fully aware that Mat thew was standing just a few feet away. “It’s long past time there were more women around the place, and I intend to enjoy every minute of it.” She smiled again, waved goodbye and sailed past Matthew, just daring him to make some comment.
She looked over her shoulder as she pushed through the café door. A person could practically see the sparks arcing between Matthew and Jaimie. Biting back a laugh, she returned to the hospital.
Squire had been moved to a room on the third floor. He was sleeping when she peeked in, so she backed out quietly and wandered down to the gift shop. But a person could only kill so much time looking at infant gifts, get-well cards and magazines. She ended up purchasing a paperback and a can of soda and slowly made her way back to Squire’s room. She’d plowed through four chapters of the book before Squire’s eyes opened.
She closed her book and looked at him.
“What? I been drooling in my sleep?”
“No,” she chuckled. “It’s just good to see you.” She helped him situate his pillows and adjust the head of the bed up. “Want some water or something?”
“What I want,” Squire said as he caught her hand, dropping his good ol’ boy routine, “is for you to tell me what’s bothering you.”
His expression could have been Jefferson’s. Or Tristan’s. Or any one of his other sons. And though she might be able to hold her own with each one of her nonbrothers, it was a different matter with Squire. This was the man who’d been the only father she’d known since she was seven years old.
Her natural parents were such a hazy image in her memory that she had to look at her old photo albums now and then to remind herself what they had looked like. And though there was a touch of sadness in that reality, Emily had been raised by the gruff man propped up in the hospital bed, and he’d done it with love.
“Well?”
Emily perched on the edge of the hard chair. She tucked her hands between her knees and pondered the wisdom of bringing up the subject. Finally she gave up and took the bull by the horns. “I want to know what’s wrong between you and Jefferson.”
Squire’s expression went stony. “Who said anything’s wrong?”
Emily tucked her tongue between her teeth and counted to ten. “The first thing you said to your son,” she said eventually, “after you woke up in ICU was get away.” She sighed slightly and had to fight with herself to maintain eye contact with the stubborn, intimidating man. “A son you hadn’t seen in over two years,” she added softly. “I’d like to know why.”
“Ever think it might be none of your concern, little lady?”
“I’m concerned about Jefferson. And you,” she said steadily.
“I’m gonna be as good as new.”
She nodded. “I believe that. I do. But t
hat’s not what I meant.” And he knew it. She could tell. “Squire, I lo—I can help him.” Her fingers twisted together. “I know I can. But not while I’m floundering around in the dark.”
“Who says he needs help?” Squire barked. “What’s he gone and done?”
Emily caught his shoulders as he leaned forward. “Relax,” she nudged him back against the pillows. “He’s not in any trouble,” she assured him soothingly. And hoped like fury that it wasn’t a lie.
“Then what the hell you going on about?”
Smothering her frustration, she sat back. “It hurt him terribly, Squire, when you told him to leave.”
“I didn’t tell him to leave,” he said abruptly.
“Oh, Squire, for Pete’s sake! I was there.”
His expression was set. And Emily knew she would get no further with Squire than she had with Jefferson. She wanted to howl with frustration. But a hospital room occupied by a newly recovering Squire was no place to vent it. “Okay,” she said in a tight voice. “You win.”
He seemed to soften slightly. “There’s no winning or losing here, girl.”
“We’re all losing,” she murmured sadly, unaware of the sharp look Squire shot her way. Standing up, she loosened her neck and shoulder muscles. “I’m going to walk a bit. Can I bring you back anything? Some magazines? A book?”
“How ’bout that red-haired nurse I vaguely remember someone telling me about?”
“No one could ever question where your sons inherited their stamina from.” Emily shook her head, a reluctant smile tilting her lips. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Go,” he said, waving her off. “Don’t want you watching me drooling while I sleep.”
Squire had eaten dinner and was soundly beating Emily at checkers when the hospital room door swung inward with a telltale whoosh. “I told you not to move that one,” Squire was saying. “Now I’m gonna have to capture this one. And this one.” He set aside her two pieces. “I told you.”
“Yeah,” Emily snorted. “Like you’ve left me a whole lot of choices on where to move.” She looked over, expecting Tristan. Or Sawyer, perhaps. She’d never imagined that Jefferson would be the one standing just inside the door. Her fingers accidentally scattered several checker pieces across the board. “Hi.”
Stay... Page 13
